She served us, and every time she glanced at me, a lovely blush touched her cheeks.

I was making plans to pursue her before the plane had even taken off.

Her jump seat was just out of my view as she sat down for take-off.  I made a note to sit in 2D the next time I took one of her flights.  I would have had an unobstructed view of her seat from there.

It was a solid hour into the flight before I was able to approach her in the galley.  She was bent down, stacking plates onto a silver, three-tiered cart.

"Do you really need to take a cart out for just the two of us?" I asked from behind her.

She visibly started, turning and standing to stare at me, gifting me with that becoming blush.  "Mr. Cavendish," she said, looking stunned.

I smiled.  "Bianca.  Do you really need that cart for just the two of us?" I asked again.

She gave me a small but gratifying smile.  "I tend to try to follow service procedures precisely when I'm serving the CEO of the airline."

I loved the sound of her voice.  It was soft but steady.  And I adored that little smile.  "What's your usual route?  Is Las Vegas to New York the normal routine?"

She looked a little surprised by the question, but she answered quickly enough.  "Yes, it is, actually.  Layovers in New York, and turns to DC."

"Turns?" I asked her, unfamiliar with the term.

She bit her lip.  "Sorry," she said.  "Airline lingo.  A turn is when we fly somewhere, then turn around and fly back the same day."

"What days do you usually go to New York?" I asked her, studying her face steadily.

She opened her mouth, so close to answering, when f**king Bram interrupted, shouting my name, and distracting her.

"Excuse me, Mr. Cavendish, I have to get back to work.  Did you need something?"

You.  Under me. For f**king days.

I gave her a neutral smile.  "I'm fine.  I guess I'll leave you to it."

She nodded.  "Please ring your call button if you need anything at all."

You.  Spread out, restrained, open, helpless before me, purposed absolutely for my use.

She turned away before she could see my nostrils flare, eyes and mind gone wild.

I didn't get another opportunity to approach her.  Bram kept me occupied for the rest of the flight.  I listened, feeling an obligation to at least hear him out for my father's sake, but I was ready to throttle him as the plane began to descend, and I hadn't been able to approach her again.

"You know I can't give you that kind of funding if you don't give me some control over the airline," I told him for at least the tenth time.

He smiled at me.  It was a con man's smile.  I wasn't impressed.  "You know you can trust me to keep this ship afloat by doing things my way," he said.

I didn't know that.  What I did know was that if he kept running things 'his way,' the airline would be bankrupt in a hurry, and grounded soon after that.  I couldn't invest in it, not even for the sake of nostalgic childhood memories.  The man ran his company like it was a game, throwing money around like he was getting his gambling fix.  If he wouldn't give up control, I would just be prolonging the inevitable, burning pointlessly through millions in the process.

"Will the flight crew be staying in New York?" I asked him, changing the subject.  I was sick of talking in circles.

"No.  They all turn around and go back to Las Vegas.  Why?"

I shrugged.  "Just curious."  I'd considered getting Bianca's number from him, or even her schedule, but I knew he wouldn't cooperate.  He'd just see it as something he could use as leverage.  I'd find another way.

I didn't even get a moment alone with her as we deplaned, though I tried.  Fucking Bram lingered, though, so I just nodded at her.  "A pleasure, Bianca," I told her on my way out, my mind coming up with the numerous ways that I planned to pleasure her in the very near future.

It was a graphic visual.

"A pleasure, Mr. Cavendish," she repeated back politely.

Not yet, I thought, but it will be.

I parted ways with Bram as soon as I could, striding swiftly towards where I knew Clark would have a car waiting at the curb.

I nodded at him as I slid into the backseat.

"To the hotel?" he asked with a raised brow.

"To the apartment," I said.  I could tell he was surprised by that answer.  I rarely quit working this early in the day.  I knew it was useless to even try to work just then, though.  I couldn't concentrate on a damn thing.  My mind was stuck on that woman . . .

Clark began to drive, but he kept shooting me questioning looks in the rearview.  "You meeting a woman, sir?" he asked.

It was a nosy question, but I was used to it.  The man was so good at his job, and had been working for me for so long, that he'd gone beyond the role of employee to that of a friend, and we both knew he could say whatever he wanted and I wouldn't be offended.  "No, Clark."

"Maybe you should.  You look like you could use one."

I shot him a sardonic look.  It was disconcerting how well he could read me.  "No, but I need you to find one for me, actually.  Her name is Bianca."

"No last name?" he asked without missing a beat.  It wasn't as though I asked him to find women for me often.  He was just an unflappable kind of guy.